Cheerleaders Don't Dye Their Hair Pink
by dizzyizzy123
Summary: Quinn didn't mean to fall in with a group of girls known as the Skanks, have a fling with a forty year old skateboarder, or dye her pink. But since it happened...she might as well have fun this summer. Pre-Season 3.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I don't know if it's clear enough but this takes place the summer before senior year and explains (my version, at least) of how Quinn joined the Skanks, dated that skateboarder in his forties, dyed her hair pink, etc. I hope someone likes it._

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><p>Quinn's hair was still chin-length and it pissed her off.<p>

In a fit of manic depression caused by being dumped by Finn for that little munchkin Rachel, Quinn allowed for her silky, flaxen locks to be chopped off to show that she was above all of this high school drama, to show that she could be beautiful without hiding behind a curtain of hair, to show…_something_.

Whatever. It was Nationals, she was in a foreign city, she had just been dumped (okay, not just but _still_), and she needed to do something dramatic.

Well, it was June now; she was done with dramatics.

Quinn's mom was initially displeased with her daughter's new haircut, but to her credit, she didn't show it. Much.

"Oh, Quinnie!" she had cried when she saw her daughter at the airport. All the Glee Club members and Mr. Shue were jetlagged, airsick, and humiliated by the fact they were still the same old Lima losers as before, Quinn especially. Quinn waved half-heartedly goodbye to everyone and quickly walked to the family car, not wanting to get into a fight with her mother in front of everyone.

"You hair," continued Judy Fabray. She attempted to run her fingers through Quinn's hair but Quinn quickened her pace. "I like it, Mom," Quinn said defensively and batted her mother's hand away. Judy's blue eyes widened as Quinn roughly stuffed her suitcases in the trunk.

"Of course, dear. It's just…" Judy bit her lip as both Fabray women buckled themselves into the car. "It's a little _too _short, don't you think? I mean, how are you going to style it now? And I saw the most beautiful chignon in the new _Elle_ when I was in the salon to get my highlights touched up! I was thinking you could've put your hair up like that for you grandmother's birthday dinner but now—"

"It'll grow back, Mom," Quinn had said firmly.

But it hadn't. It hadn't even grown back_ one freaking inch_.

Quinn felt like a complete and utter loser, something she vowed never to be again since her final days as "Lucy Goosey", on a beautiful June morning in Lima, Ohio and it wasn't even eleven a.m. for God's sake!

Quinn fished out a piece of paper from her desk and picked up a pen. _Reasons I am a loser,_ she wrote.

_1. Finn broke up with me._

_ 2. For __her_

_ 3. My hair hasn't grown. _At all.

_ 4. I'm no longer on the Cheerios._

_ 5. I lost prom queen._

_ 6. I ate four Pop-Tarts last night._

As soon as she had finished writing, Quinn ripped up the piece of paper into tiny little confetti and sighed. She was done with feeling like a loser. She wasn't "Lucy Goosey" anymore, that was a step in the right direction. But being head cheerleader meant nothing if girls like Tina Cohen-Chang could snag a football player with amazing abs with her weird Goth getup. Being celibacy club president was a joke; the freaky germaphobic counselor was the treasurer and membership was dwindling now that she couldn't twist the arms of her fellow Cheerios and force them and their boyfriends to participate. All she had left was Glee Club now. Instead of being comforted by that thought, Quinn was repulsed.

In about three months, she would walk back into McKinley High and see Rachel and Finn holding hands, kissing, and generally being annoyingly love-dovey. Then glee practice would start and she'd have to stand in the background and sway while Finn and Rachel looked into each other's eyes and harmonized another Journey song Mr. Schuester would force them to perform.

Not to mention the fact that it was her senior year so now her parents, despite being divorced and hating each other's guts, would join forces and nag her about college. Did she take her SAT? Did she take the ACT? Did she take any SAT subject tests? Did she choose a top school yet? Did she choose a safety? Was she joining enough extracurriculars? Was she joining _too_ many extracurriculars that her GPA was being dragged down as a result? Was she applying early action or early decision?

Quinn felt pressured to erase the embarrassing sophomore year in which she had gotten pregnant and prove to her parents, her teachers, or any students who still snickered about the fact that the president of celibacy club got pregnant that she was not going to end up like those unmotivated, slacker moms who worked in the local Wal-Mart and didn't care about getting laid off because there was always unemployment.

In other words, Quinn didn't want to be a loser. But she was one; there was no denying it.

"_I'm a loser"_, crooned The Beatles from the radio downstairs in the kitchen. Quinn rolled her eyes at her mom's lame choice in radio station. As she went downstairs to switch the dial to something more hip, she reflected on the lyrics, singing softly along when she knew the words.

_I'm a loser_

_And I'm not what I appear to be_

_Of all the love I have won or have lost__  
><em>_there is one love I should never have crossed__  
><em>_She was a girl in a million, my friend__  
><em>_I should have known she would win in the end_

Quinn paused before the radio and let the song finish. _How appropriate_, she thought sardonically.

_What have I done to deserve such a fate__  
><em>_I realize I have left it too late__  
><em>_And so it's true, pride comes before a fall__  
><em>_I'm telling you so that you won't lose all_

_I'm a loser__  
><em>_And I lost someone who's near to me__  
><em>_I'm a loser__  
><em>_And I'm not what I appear to be_

The song finished and Quinn quickly turned it to a Top 40 station, despite the fact that they were playing that annoying Nicki Minaj song she hated, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall. _I'm a loser, I'm a loser,_ she kept repeating to herself.

"Quinnie, is that you?" asked Judy from another part of the house.

"Yeah," answered Quinn as she rummaged through the cupboards for those chocolate chip Pop Tarts she bought last week when she was on her period and desperately craving chocolate.

Judy came in, patting away the sweat caused by an hour's worth on the treadmill with a white towel. "What are you doing?" she asked Quinn, keeping her eyes fixed on the fattening Pop-Tarts her daughter was holding. Quinn guiltily put them back and got out the Special K instead.

"Just eating breakfast," answered Quinn.

"So any plans for the day?" asked Judy Fabray brightly.

"I don't know," Quinn said through a mouthful of cereal. She ignored her mother's tightened mouth, which usually signaled disapproval.

"Maybe you can invite all your little friends from Glee Club over today," suggested Judy.

"Maybe," responded Quinn non-committingly.

"I don't want you sitting inside all day, alright?"

"Alright."

"I mean it, Quinn. It's summer. You should be hanging out with your friends, going to the pool—not stuck inside all day watching MTV."

"I know."

"You know why don't you call Santana or Brittany over? I haven't seen them in awhile—"

"Okay, I'll call them later."

"You know what you should do? You should ask Coach Sylvester if you could be on the Cheerios again. It'll look good on your applications and you need to get some physical activity. I'm sorry, sweetie, but sitting on stools and singing isn't going to—"

"_Mom!_"

Quinn didn't mean to sound so irritated, but she couldn't help it. She quickly finished her cereal and intently avoided looking into her mother's eyes. "I'm going for a run now, okay?" she said falsely cheerfully and ran upstairs to pull on some running shoes and grab her iPod.

Ten minutes later, Quinn was at the intersection of two main streets, waiting for the stupid light to change. It was eleven a.m. and she could feel her hair sticking to the back of her sweaty neck. Another negative thing about having this short bob was that she couldn't pull her hair up into a ponytail anymore. Quinn pushed the 'WALK' button impatiently. She was a hot, sweaty mess and she wanted to get to the trail at the local park and run in peace before she saw anyone from school and became immediately self conscious.

To her dismay, she heard the same annoying Nicki Minaj song again blasting obnoxiously from someone's car. Quinn turned to glare at the offensive driver but to her horror, it was someone she recognized from school.

Mercedes Jones was driving her father's sedan and singing along to the car radio. Someone was in the car was with her. Quinn squinted to see who it was and flushed with embarrassment when she realized it was Sam Evans, her ex-boyfriend. Sam kissed Mercedes on the cheek, furthering Quinn's mortification. _Sam and Mercedes are, like, dating now?_

Quinn stared straight ahead, praying that they wouldn't notice her. But then a car's horn honked and Quinn knew without even looking that she was caught. She pasted a fake smile on her face and self-consciously started to fix her hair. She was over Sam, definitely, but she still liked to look good whenever she encountered any ex-boyfriends. Today, however, she was dressed in a plain white tank top and navy blue shorts with her blonde hair sticking to her face. Not her best.

"Going on a run?" called Mercedes.

"Yeah!" called Quinn back.

"Hey, text me later! A bunch of us are going to the mall this afternoon!" Mercedes gestured, making a pretend cell phone out of her hand. Quinn nodded, having no intention to actually follow through. "A bunch of us" inevitably meant the rest of the Glee Club which meant Finn and Rachel too. Quinn was not in the mood to deal with them; she was still licking her wounds. Thankfully, Sam nudged Mercedes to let her know that the light was now green. Even more thankfully, they drove off without a second glance.

Quinn crossed the street, feeling more like a loser than ever. Both of her ex-boyfriends had moved on and here she was, still single. Quinn felt ugly and she needed validation and she needed it fast. She pulled out her cell phone to text Santana and Brittany to moan about her lack of love life, lack of popularity, and lack of abs. Just then, however, a beat up 1970s mustang rolled down the street noisily and honked at her.

Quinn jumped, startled by the noise and prepared to glare at the driver who was about to pass her in a minute. The driver, a long haired man in his late thirties with piercing green eyes, gave her a wink as he passed by. Quinn flushed, both revolted and pleased by the compliment.

She put her phone back in her pocket and kept heading to the park. Quinn flicked through her song list and started to blast "Don't Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls.

_Don't cha wish you girlfriend was hot like me, _Quinn mouthed as she ran, leaving behind her insecurities and anxieties.

But only temporarily.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews. Seriously, when I saw I had 4, I let out a little squee. Just to let you know, this story will probably will be updated weekly, usually on the weekends. Please review, that always makes me keep writing._

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><p>Quinn sprinted down the sidewalk enjoying the burning sensation in her calves and legs. She felt as if her lungs were about to burst and slowed down, still heavily breathing. It felt good to run. She pretended that she was on a trail out that led out of Lima, somewhere fabulous and relaxing like Cancun, where she could check into a luxurious hotel and relax while hot Mexican cabana boys served her virgin strawberry daiquiris and fawned over her new haircut. She would wear that new powder blue string bikini she picked up in American Eagle and just lounge by the pool, getting an amazing tan that would make even Santana jealous-<p>

Quinn sighed and realized that despite her self-imposed isolation, she really did miss her friends. Even Rachel. Well, Rachel, not so much.

She turned back home and took out her cell phone, ready to text Santana and Brittany to come over and hang out at her house. As she was walking, an eight year old boy skated by dangerously on his skateboard, nearly knocking her over. Quinn turned around to glare at his back, meanly wishing that he would hit a bump and stumble, as punishment for being rude.

To her horror, her wish came true. The boy veered off the path during his attempt to do some cool skateboarding trick and landed hard on the ground. He was in shock for a moment before letting out a truly horrible wail. Quinn looked around, hoping that the boy had friends or someone nearby to help. Quinn's hopes rose as a jogger in a hideously tight spandex shorts passed, but he barely gave the boy so much as a second glance. Now Quinn r_eally _felt sorry for the kid, who was clutching his ankle and sobbing so hard that he was almost hyperventilating.

Quinn was still frozen in place, debating what to do and then she was reminded of the story of the Good Samaritan from Sunday school. Quinn felt a pang of guilt and jogged over to the boy. It was the least she could do to make sure he got home okay.

"Hey, you alright?" she called, even though she already knew the answer. The boy looked surprised and wiped the snot off his nose. "No!" he snapped, as if she was the stupidest person in the world. Quinn rolled her eyes. "Don't get smart with me, kid. Here, let me see."

The boy allowed for Quinn to roll up his cargo pants up gingerly. Quinn tsked her tongued; it was a sprained ankle, just as she suspected. She helped the boy stand up, precariously though. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Brandon," he whimpered through his tears.

"Okay, Brandon do you live around here?"

He nodded and gestured to the seedy looking apartment complex adjacent to the park. Quinn recognized it as the Crooked Creek apartments. Her heart sank as she realized it was only two blocks away from where Lima Heights, the _true_ bad side of the tracks, began.

"Okay, Brandon," Quinn said nervously. "Lead the way." She attempted to guide Brandon towards the apartments but he stopped.

"What?" snapped Quinn impatiently.

"I'm not supposed to let strangers know where I live," he explained. Quinn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She took a deep breath and summoned the sugary sweet side of herself, the side she used with the little kids she baby-sat in the church day care and to wrangle free smoothies from the hopelessly dorky cashier at Starbucks.

"Okay, Brandon. Well, I'm Quinn. I'm seventeen, I go to McKinley High and I'm going to make sure you get home safely. 'Kay? Now we're not strangers." Brandon seemed satisfied with the information and allowed Quinn to help him towards the complex.

"Okay, but if you're a pedophile, my mom and dad are going to be really pissed at me, " he told her seriously.

Quinn laughed, despite herself.

Twenty minutes later, Brandon had led Quinn back to his apartment. Quinn alternated between holding his elbow to keep him from putting pressure on his ankle and keeping his excessively graffiti-ed skateboard under her arm. He stopped at apartment 112 and knocked on the door.

"Is someone home?" asked Quinn hopefully. She was hot and tired and maybe as a thank you for making sure that their son didn't get ravaged by wolves, Brandon's family would offer her a glass a water or maybe a ride home in an air-conditioned car. Plus, she wouldn't feel guilty for leaving him all alone.

Brandon nodded before banging on the door even harder. "Sheila!" he yelled. "Let me in!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," said a voice from behind the door. The olive green painted door swung open and there stood a black girl with the tips of her dark hair dyed a variety of blond shades. She looked Quinn up and down and noticed the blonde's grip on Brandon's elbow.

"What'd he do this time?" she asked boredly as she gestured for Quinn to come in.

"He sprained his ankle, I think, "she replied as Brandon hopped to the couch. He propped his foot on the coffee table and began to gingerly examine his injury. MTV was on the television.

"Jesus," muttered the black girl as she went into the kitchen to prepare an ice pack. Quinn flinched slightly at the Lord's name being taken in vain, but she let it slide. "I think he was trying to do some skateboarding trick and that's when he fell."

The girl rolled her eyes as she placed the ice pack on her brother's foot. "God, I could kill those people in that _Lords of Dogtown _movie. Have you seen it? Well, it was on cable like, two weeks ago and now this dumb ass thinks he's the next Tony Hawk-"

"Alva," corrected Brandon, adjusting the ice pack. "I'm the next Tony Alva."

His sister rolled her eyes again. "Whatever. So now he's hanging by the skate park with all those older kids and nearly busting his head trying to do an ollie or 360 or whatever." She shook her head. "Do your brothers ever do that?"

Quinn shook her head. "I only have an older sister, Frannie. I think the most dangerous thing she ever did was wear white after Labor Day."

Brandon's sister looked at Quinn for moment before letting out a laugh. Quinn giggled too. She stuck her hand out.

"I'm Quinn. Quinn Fabray."

"I know. I'm Sheila. We go to school together."

"Seriously?" Quinn's eyebrows raised in surprise. "I don't remember seeing you around."

"Well, me and my girls like to hang out under the bleachers mostly," explained Sheila. "And besides, you're usually a little busy with Cheerios crap."

"I'm not in Cheerios anymore," said Quinn, somewhat sadly. Sheila looked at her curiously.

"For real? Why not? Hey, want a Coke?" Sheila gestured for Quinn to follow her into the kitchen. She took two red Coca-Cola cans from the fridge and Quinn gratefully accepted it.

"Coach Sylvester wanted to chuck my friend Brittany out of a cannon for Nationals," said Quinn, sipping her drink. "Me and my other friend refused and she kicked us off the team."

"That sucks."

"Nah, not really. Coach Sylvester has been getting really annoying. Her practices are too demanding. Did you know that Cheerios practices for this year started two days after school end?"

"No freaking way."

Quinn shrugged. "I'm done with her. I'm not even going to beg her to let me back in this year." As soon as she said it, Quinn realized it was true. She was done with Cheerios, even though Brittany and Santana had mentioned the possibility of pleading with Coach Sylvester to let them back while they were on the plane home from New York. "I just wanna have some fun this year," she told Sheila.

"If you want fun, you should hang out with me and my girls later on," said Sheila.

"Sure, what are you guys planning?" asked Quinn. She didn't even care if Sheila and her friends turned out to be dorks who had knitting circles and watched the original _Star Trek _television series. She wanted to have plans just in case if Mercedes or anyone from Glee Club tried to get her to hang out anywhere where Rachel and Finn might be seen together.

"Well, first we're probably going to go to the skate park so I can yell at Frankie for teaching my brother skate tricks but then we should see if we can get into a club. If not, Mack's cousin is having a party."

"They won't mind if I come?" asked Quinn.

Sheila sized Quinn up. "I'll tell them you're with us," she said with an essence of finality.

Quinn grinned, a genuine smile, for the first time in weeks. "Where do you want to meet up?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Haha I updated a day early! Hope you enjoy; I didn't like this chapter too much because I felt the pacing was off.

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><p>Quinn eyed the clothes in her closet critically. She wanted to look good when she hung out his Sheila and her friends but she didn't exactly know what the dress code was for anti-social people who hung out under the bleachers. She wanted to fit in and highly doubted that Sheila and her friends would be impressed by the cornflower blue cotton dresses and pastel cardigans hanging in her closet. She flicked through the hangers and decided the safest option would be to wear a black cami and that new denim miniskirt from Aeropostale.<p>

Quinn dressed carefully and was debating on whether to wear her black wedge espadrilles or her black gladiator sandals, when her mother came in. Quinn was annoyed at her mother's intrusion and picked the espadrilles. She strapped them on quietly, waiting for the interrogation to begin.

"Where are you going, all dressed up?" asked Judy Fabray, her eyebrows raised at the skirt's short hem length.

"I'm going out tonight," Quinn said nonchalantly as she went over to her vanity mirror and applied her eye liner. She then chose a pair of plain diamond studs and tightened the posts on her earrings.

"With who?" asked her mother.

Quinn debated internally, wondering whether or not to tell the truth. If she did tell the truth, Judy Fabray would insist on meeting Sheila and Quinn knew she would not approve of Sheila's hair or her nose ring. But at the same time, if she lied and got caught, she would be undoubtedly punished. Her phone vibrated, signaling a text message had arrived. It was Sheila, saying that she was outside. Crap. She needed to get out the door and she needed to do it fast. Then Quinn remembered her encounter with Mercedes.

"With Mercedes, Mom," she lied, grabbing a black clutch and stuffing her wallet, her keys, her phone, and a tube of lip gloss inside it.

"We're probably going to see a movie at the Cineplex and then maybe go the Lima Bean," Quinn added, embellishing on the lie. "She's here now so I have to go."

Judy got up and checked the window. It was getting dark and Quinn prayed her mother would not notice that Sheila was driving a beat up 1990s sedan, not the 2005 Honda Civic Mercedes usually borrowed from her father. Thankfully, Judy was satisfied and gave Quinn a kiss on the cheek.

"Have fun," she told her. "It _is_ summer, so I guess your curfew can be one o'clock."

Quinn grinned and hugged her mother. "Thanks, Mom," she called over her shoulder as she bounded downstairs and out of the house, to Sheila's car.

Sheila's friends were already with her so Quinn slide in the backseat next to a pretty, dark haired girl who was reapplying lip gloss. She smiled at Quinn and then resumed fixing her make up.

"My curfew's at one," Quinn told Sheila, her cheeks flaming slightly at the admittance of having a curfew. She hoped the girls wouldn't think she was a dork for having one. "Me too," offered the chubby girl in the passenger seat. "I'm Ronnie."

"Quinn."

"They call me The Mack because I like to make out with truckers at the rest stop," piped up the brunette next to Quinn. "It's a double meaning thing," she added. Quinn smiled nervously, not sure of what to say to that.

"Hey, where are we going?" asked Mack, leaning forward on the back of Sheila's seat. Sheila waved her off as Ronnie flipped through the CDs in the glove compartment.

"We need to go to the skate park first so I can yell at Frankie," said Sheila as Ronnie blasted a Bangles CD. "My brother sprained his ankle today, trying to do some skateboarding trick."

"Who's Frankie?" asked Quinn.

"He's the guy who, like, runs the skate park," explained Mack.

"He doesn't _run_ it, dummy," said Ronnie, rolling her eyes. "The park's free."

"Yeah, but he's there all time. He basically runs the place," insisted Mack.

"Either way he's a grown ass man way too old to be hanging around little kids, teaching them how to skateboard, " broke in Sheila. "He's really sad. All he does is hang around the skate park, show off for little kids, and try to hit on high school girls. It's pathetic."

"Yeah but he's kinda cute, isn't he?" said Mack. She turned to Quinn. "He's got really amazing eyes."

"Mack, why don't you just stick to truckers?" snapped Sheila. The girls all laughed, Quinn too. She rolled down the window and let the cool night air wash over her.

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><p>The girls pulled into the skate park's parking lot ten minutes later. Someone was blasting Green Day out of a boom box they had brought into the park while elementary and middle school aged kids showed off for one another. A group of sophomores Quinn recognized from school were smoking pot and trying to look cool. An older man was with them, cracking dirty jokes. Quinn assumed that was Frankie.<p>

As the girls approached that particular group, with Sheila leading the way, Quinn noticed that Frankie was the same man who had winked at her earlier. She slowed down slightly, nearly bumping into Mack, as Frankie turned his attention to the group of girls. His green eyes focused on Quinn and his face spread itself into a crooked grin.

"Hey, girls," he greeted them amiably.

"Don't start that bullshit with me," warned Sheila.

"Aw, come on, what'd I do this time?" laughed Frankie as he took a hit of the joint the high schoolers were passing around.

"You've been teaching my little brother skate tricks after I specifically told you not to," hissed Sheila.

"Hey, that wasn't me," said Frankie, throwing his hands up in defense. "It was DuShawn over there. You know I'd never cross you, not after you keyed, "The Bangles are the best" on my car that one time."

"And I stand by it," said Sheila as she turned away to yell at a middle school aged boy who, apparently, was DuShawn.

"I know you," Frankie said, looking at Quinn. "You're a cheerleader."

"Well, I don't know you," she said coolly. "And I don't care to," she added as she started to follow Ronnie and Mack to a bench off to the side.

"Oh, I get it," called out Frankie. "You think you're cute enough to pull off that ice queen virgin shtick."

"She is," called back Mack protectively as she pulled Quinn along but Quinn stopped. She was sick of people assuming that they already knew her just because of the way she dressed or the clubs she joined.

"For your information, I'm not a virgin," she told him, her cheeks slightly burning at the admission.

"Sure_, _you're not," mockingly replied one of the high school stoners. Frankie laughed again.

"I'm not going to justify myself to you," said Quinn, looking at Frankie. "But at least I've had sex with someone who wasn't my right hand!"

With that, she turned on her heel and led the madly cackling Ronnie and Mack to where Sheila was making a poor seventh grader cry as the high school stoners around Frankie oohed.

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><p><em>"And then she said, 'At least I've had sex with someone who wasn't my right hand!'"<em>

Five minutes later, the girls were back in Sheila's car, on their way to the party. Quinn smiled faintly as Ronnie and Mack recreated the incident word for word.

They pulled up to a shabby house with peeling paint. Music was blasting as drunken party-goers wandered around the house aimlessly, looking for action. Quinn's heart started beating faster when she saw a familiar 1970s Mustang parked a little way down the street and checked to see if any of the girls noticed. They didn't, too busy whooping at the sight of a cooler that contained beer. Quinn slowed cautiously as the other girls eagerly made their way to the cooler of Bud Lights, suddenly feeling like a dork. Well, she had a good reason to be wary of alcohol because of that one week in Glee club where everyone was perpetually hung over. Quinn smiled at the memory of Rachel getting puked on by Brittany in front of the whole student body during the school assembly.

"Ah, so the ice queen does smile," said a voice. Quinn turned to see Frankie, who was grinning at her. He offered her a beer but Quinn waved it away.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, half annoyed and half curious.

"I'm friends with Mack's cousin. I worked on his car," explained Frankie. He gestured to an overly made up sleek car sitting in the driveway. "I did the detailing," he bragged. Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Well, it's nice to know you actually have a job besides hanging around high school kids," she told him sarcastically.

"High school kids," drawled Frankie, mimicking Matthew McConaughey in _Dazed and Confused_. "I get older, they stay the same age."

Despite herself, Quinn laughed. "See, I knew you weren't an ice queen," Frankie said, his eyes sparkling.

"Then why'd you call me that?"

"Aw, I just wanted to keep talking to you."

"Oh, you're so mature," Quinn said, rolling her eyes. "What are we, in first grade? If you want to talk to me, you can just talk to me."

"Okay, who'd you do it with? That is, if you weren't lying about not being a virgin."

"What?" gasped Quinn, taken aback. She shook her head. "You can't just _ask_ people that!"

"I bet you did it with the captain of the football team, the quarterback."

"Close, but not quite," Quinn told him, raising her eyebrow. She decided to accept the second beer he was still holding in his hand for her.

"Oh yeah, then who? The captain of the chess team?"

"Is that who you did it with?" Quinn replied back sassily.

Frankie laughed again. "You know, you're really being an idiot," she told him and she started to leave to go find Sheila and the others, who had disappeared in the crowd but Frankie grabbed her arm.

"Hey," he said more seriously, looking into her eyes. "I'm sorry, you're right. Let's start over. Hi, I'm Frankie."

"I'm Quinn," Quinn replied. He looked around the party and Quinn noticed that Frankie, despite his attempts to look otherwise, was still the oldest person at the party. A few other guests eyed him suspiciously, as if Frankie would soon reveal himself to be a parent, or worse, a cop. Quinn felt stupid for sort-of flirting with this forty year old epitome of a loser while she was at a party way more interesting than any of the boring beer bashes the football team threw but at the same time, she felt flattered that this older _man_ was taking an interest in _her_.

"_There ain't reason you and me should be alone," _sang Lady Gaga. "_Tonight, yeah, baby!" _This was everyone's cue to start dancing wildly. An overenthusiastic dancer who was too drunk for their own good started flailing his arms everywhere, knocking into Quinn. Frankie caught her as she stumbled; Quinn caught her breath as he kept his hands around her.

_And I got a reason that you're who should take me home tonight_

_I need a man that thinks it's right when it's so wrong_

_Tonight, yeah, baby! (Tonight, yeah)_

_Right on the limits where we both belong tonight_

"I have to go find my friends," she said awkwardly, trying to break away from his grasp

"Don't," he said simply.

He looked into her eyes and stepped closer to her. Quinn wildly wondered if he was going to kiss her. And she wildly wondered how she would feel about that.

"I like you, Quinn," Frankie told her, still staring into her eyes.

"I have to go," Quinn said quietly, not very forcefully. Frankie smiled at her reaction and Quinn felt like an idiot for letting herself fall under his spell.

"I'll see you later," he murmured and disappeared into the crowd.

Quinn, too, also melted into the sea of party-goers but she was unable to resist taking a second glance at Frankie. He noticed and smiled his crooked smile at her, watching her bump into a slightly tipsy Mack.

Quinn didn't know how she did, but she knew Frankie would be waiting for her at the skate park tomorrow.

And she knew she was going to be there.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I know I haven't updated in awhile and I am tres tres tres sorry for that. But you don't really care why; you just want the story. I don't blame you. The reason for the late update is purely laziness anyway. However, if more people reviewed, the more motivated I would be to post more often hint hint._

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><p>Quinn showed up at the skate park around noon, ignoring the skaters who were curiously watching her. She tugged nervously on her black wife beater and olive green cargo shorts. She felt like an idiot. What was she doing here, waiting for some guy way too old for her who may or may not show up? Besides, what if anyone from school saw her? Already she could hear the gossip flying: <em>Quinn Fabray is so heartbroken that she's started slumming it with this skeezy 40 year old skateboarder<em>. Quinn's cheeks flamed as she thought of a smug Rachel Berry gloating over her misery. Soon, a yellow Mustang pulled up and Quinn decided for once in her life, not to care what anyone thought of her.

"Don't you know a gentleman always opens a door for a lady?" she asked him, leaning over the open passenger window, allowing Frankie to take the opportunity to appreciate her cleavage.

"Babe, I ain't no gentleman," Frankie told her, smirking. Quinn rolled her eyes and got in. "Would it kill you to try new things?" she huffed. Frankie laughed and turned on the radio. Quinn turned it off, smiling flirtatiously at Frankie.

"Where do you want to go, babe?"

"Mexico. Europe. Anywhere but here."

"I can arrange that."

Frankie pulled the car out of the parking lot and started to turn on the freeway, past neighborhoods Quinn was familiar with and ones she wasn't.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"You'll see, babe."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I have a name, you know. It's Quinn."

"I know," said Frankie. "Hey, you want a cigarette?"

"I don't smoke," Quinn told him coolly.

"Would it kill you to try new things?" mimicked Frankie, throwing Quinn's words back at her.

"Smoking definitely will," she shot back sassily.

"Come on, I promise not to make fun of you if you cough." He lit a cigarette for her as he slowed down to let a car pass in front of him. Quinn hesitated for a moment. "And I promise not to make fun of you if you don't like it," added Frankie.

"No thanks," Quinn said firmly.

"Alright," said Frankie, backing off. He put his arm around her and Quinn felt a sense a relief, glad he didn't make fun of her. They were at a red light now and she checked the cars next to them, half hoping someone she knew would spot her and half hoping they wouldn't. An exhausted soccer mom in the next lane over did a double take as she glanced briefly into Quinn and Frankie's car. _She's probably wondering if I'm his daughter or his girlfriend_, thought Quinn and she moved away from Frankie. He drove on, not looking at her.

"I'm seventeen," she reminded him, trying to establish a sense of boundaries. It wasn't that she was _scared_ of pursuing a relationship with Frankie exactly, but it wouldn't hurt to remind him of the implications of their romance.

"And I'm forty," he replied simply. "Age is just a number, Quinn. Why should it matter?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. You're just so different from anyone I've ever been with."

"Ditto."

"Really?"

"Nah. I used to date a chick kinda like you back in high school. She had blonde hair. Cheerleader."

"Oh," Quinn said, feeling a little deflated. Still, she couldn't resist asking, "What was her name?"

"Kelly. Kelly Parker. Whenever I heard this song on the radio—"he fumbled for a moment and withdrew a cassette tape from the glove department. He popped it in and a song by the Stray Cats began to play. "I always thought about her," he explained, sheepishly. Quinn smiled at Frankie's boyishness and leaned back against Frankie again, trying to sort out how she felt being an export for his former high school flame.

_Well, she's sexy and seventeen_

_My little rock and roll queen_

_Acts a little bit obscene_

_Gotta let off a little steam_

_Dig that sound shake it around you're mine, mine, mine_

"But now when I hear this song, I think about you," he told her. Quinn smiled and turned the stereo up. Frankie moved in for a kiss but Quinn turned her head away. Undeterred, Frankie kissed her neck instead, tickling Quinn. She laughed and turned her head even further, but she stopped when she saw Rachel Berry's ugly pastel reindeer sweater from the corner of her eye. Rachel was with Kurt, obviously on their way to a community theater production workshop, judging from the Barbara Streisand CD that was blasting. Rachel was singing along rather loudly and the cars from the other lanes sped up to avoid them. Quinn's heart raced as Rachel glimpsed briefly into Frankie's car. But Rachel didn't seem to notice that Quinn was gallivanting with a man more than twice her age so Quinn allowed herself to relax and return Frankie's kiss.

They didn't really do much that day, except drive around until Frankie pulled over at the mechanic auto shop where he worked/lived in. "It's not that I don't think you're not worth it, babe," he said, pulling into the seedy looking joint. "But gas prices these days are killing me."

"I understand, "Quinn said. Frankie got out of the car and in a gentlemanly gesture, pulled her door open.

"Thank you," she told him. He motioned for her to follow him into the loft he lived in above the auto-shop. "But just so you know, "she began but then she faltered, embarrassed by what she was about to say.

"What?" asked Frankie, already unlocking the door.

Quinn squared her shoulders and said quickly, "I'mnotgoingtohavesexwithyou."

Frankie laughed and pulled her close to him. "I just want to kiss you for a little bit," he told her.

* * *

><p>It was sunset when a flushed Quinn was dropped off at the skate park. She didn't want her mother to see Frankie and his beat up Mustang would stick out like a sore thumb in their neighborhood which was populated with sleek Priuses and Mercedes Benz.<p>

"I'll see you later," he told her. Quinn felt his tone was too dismissive and worried that now Frankie relieved a bit of his high school romance, he was now done with her.

She walked home, deflated and kicking herself for being so stupid. What was she thinking? Just because she thought she had power didn't mean she actually did. What would happen now? Frankie would probably brag about it to all the high school stoners who hung around him and those high school stoners would in turn pass that story around once school resumed. Or not, depending on how—

Quinn was tired of the running monologue in her head and wanted to turn to someone, but who?

Quinn fished out her cellphone and called the one person she knew she could confide in right now.

"Yo."

"Hey, Sheila," Quinn said, trying not to make her voice quiver as the weight of the words she was about to say hit her.

"What's up, Quinn?"

"I did something really stupid today."

"Wanna elaborate?"

"I hung out with Frankie today."

"And?"

"And…I feel stupid."

"Damn right you should. What are you thinking? He's such a skeezy guy. He can't get a girlfriend his own age so he has to scam on high school girls who have a thing for being jailbait."

"Exactly. Now that I'm done with feeling stupid and ashamed, how do I get over it?"

"Easy. Come shopping with us tomorrow. We're hitting all the outlet stores and thrift stores. It's Thrift Store Thursday."

Quinn smiled at the offer. "That's it? No more guilting or shaming?"

"Do I look Catholic?"

"I don't know," admitted Quinn. "Are you?"

"No. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow. We're going at like, around ten and coming back around five or so."

"Sounds good to me," said Quinn, happy for the opportunity to indulge in retail therapy. As soon as she hung up her phone, Quinn immediately wished she didn't.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hi, another update! Aren't you all glad? Unfortunately, my attempts to update weekly are failing sorry. Again, if you guys would review, I would update more. Here ends the review whoring.

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><p>"Oh, hi Quinn," Sam Evan said amicably as he noticed her. They were standing on the same street corner and he was out for a jog, evidenced by his sweaty face, gym shorts, and running shoes.<p>

"Hi," she replied back, more bitchily than she intended. What really sucked about seeing Sam again was that she was reminded of what a nice, decent person he was, how stupid she was to dump him for Finn, _and _the fact that he was most likely dating Mercedes now.

"Where've you been? Feel like I haven't seen you all summer," he continued as he began to walk Quinn home. She hadn't even said where she was going and if it were anyone else but Sam, she would've felt like she was being herded like a sheep. However, since it _was_ Sam, Quinn knew he thought he was just being a gentleman. Which he was.

"Oh, you know. I've been busy," she said vaguely. "Just like everyone else," she added, her eyes flashing unintentionally.

Sam caught wind of this, which made Quinn regret yet again her decision to cheat on him. Finn never caught on to her passive aggressive tendencies, Puck would ignore them, and Frankie—well, she didn't exactly know how Frankie would handle her moodiness.

"Look," Sam said, interrupting Quinn's thoughts. "I know it must've been really weird seeing me with Mercedes and I guess you might as well know that we're um…well, dating."

"Okay," Quinn said carefully. "Good for you. Mercedes is really nice. She'll…she'll make a good girlfriend."

"Thanks," Sam said, relief lighting up his features. They walked in silence for a few moments before Sam asked, "So you're not mad?"

"If anyone deserves to be mad, it's you," admitted Quinn. She looked at Sam's confused expression. "Because of me and Finn?" she reminded him.

"That was a long time ago," Sam said benevolently. "Anyway, I'm glad I ran into you so I could, you know, tell you. Everyone else knows except for you and I was hoping we wouldn't have to wait until school started to tell you—"

"What do you mean, everyone knows?" interrupted Quinn.

"Well, Mercedes told Kurt, who told Finn, who told Rachel, who told…well, everybody." Sam chuckled. "No secrets in Glee Club, I guess."

Quinn smiled blithely but a twinge of annoyance crept into her voice. "Still, I was the last to know?"

"Well, you've kind have been MIA this summer. Not even Santana and Brittany have heard from you and they're your best friends."

"Well, maybe I've been making new friends," snapped Quinn but Sam ignored her tone.

"Well, your old friends miss you. And we're getting together on Friday at Mercedes' house to just like, chill and hang out."

"And watch _Avatar_?" asked Quinn, raising an eyebrow.

"You know it!" he laughed. Before they knew it, they had reached the cul de sac that was Quinn's neighborhood.

"See you Friday?" he asked. Quinn nodded and hoped Finn and Rachel would be bearable. If she ever needed Jesus, now was the time.

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><p>It was 7:15 pm and Quinn was already asking God for strength. It wasn't bad enough that she was stuck at a party with Rachel and Finn but Rachel was being annoyingly bubbly and talkative. She was either throwing her relationship in Quinn's face or just being herself. For once, Quinn decided to give her paranoia a rest and assume Rachel was just being Rachel.<p>

"Quinn!" Rachel cried. "Did I tell you I love your dress?"

_Yes, yes you did_, thought Quinn but smiled weakly at Rachel and allowed her to admire the gray tie-dyed maxi dress she bought with Sheila, Ronnie, and Mack the other day for the umpteenth time.

"Cool outfit," nodded Santana who also joined them at the kitchen counter where Quinn was pretending to decide between the five different kinds of soda the Jones family provided for refreshments. Quinn desperately wished that this party could be more like the alcohol-drenched debauchery at Rachel's because God knew she needed a drink.

"So, um, where did you get it?" asked Rachel, nervous in Quinn's presence. Quinn smiled slightly. At least Rachel had the decency to be cautious and careful not to show off too much in front of Quinn while Finn didn't see anything wrong with kissing his girlfriend in front of his ex-girlfriend whom he broke up with after a funeral.

"At Bangles and Beyond," said Quinn. "You know, that little store in that shopping center that has the Hobby Lobby?"

"Bangles and Beyond?" asked Santana, wrinkling her nose. "I didn't know you were slumming it, Quinn. You should shop at Goodwill if you're going for homeless chic; at least they have fewer mothballs. "

And with that, Santana flounced away to greet Brittany who just arrived, completely forgetting that she too had complimented Quinn on her dress.

Quinn sighed, wishing there would be less talking and more watching the movie, even though she thought _Avatar_ was basically _Pocahontas_ in space. Still, if they just sat in silence for two hours, watching the film, Quinn could've gotten credit for hanging out with her supposed friends without having to actually interact with them.

"Quinn?" piped up Rachel timidly. "Can I talk to you for a sec? Outside?"

"Sure," Quinn shrugged. Well, it wasn't like there was anything better to do.

They slipped out quietly into the backyard into the cool night air.

"What's up?" asked Quinn.

"Look, I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry about New York. I mean, how Finn and I got together—"

"If anyone should be sorry, it's you," agreed Quinn. Rachel looked confused. "Have you not seen the YouTube video?"

"What video?" demanded Rachel.

"It's a video of your kiss. The comments are hilarious. My favorite one is, 'Why is T-Rex eating the Jew'?" Quinn laughed. "Or something like that. Santana forwarded to me."

"Oh," Rachel said, her voice faltering. Then she regained her resolve. "Anyway I wanted to talk to you about…well, the choices you've been making."

"What choices?" asked Quinn sharply.

"Well…I saw you…with that forty year old skateboarder guy in his car and I just wanted to tell you that I know you're hurting but you don't have to hang around people like that. I mean, don't you think it's creepy to date a guy twice your age—"

"You know what Rachel? It's none of your business. It's none of anybody's business whose car I am in or who I date. Okay? Just drop it."

"Quinn!" Rachel grabbed Quinn's arm. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to poke my nose in where it doesn't belong—"

"But you're just so good at that aren't you? I don't know what you're doing here Rachel, talking to me like this but I bet you still feel bad about you and Finn and guess what? You should. Since day one, you have been trying to steal _my_ boyfriend. Sure, maybe Finn deserved to break up with me after I lied about the baby but this year? You followed a stupid blind item in a gossip column and ruined everything. And why? Because you think just because you have the best voice, that means you get to have the leading man, even if he's already taken. So don't try to give me this after school special concerned about me crap because you're only trying to ease your guilty conscience. You know, Finn doesn't care about my feelings but really pisses me off is that you pretend to care."

"I do care, Quinn!" protested Rachel. "Come on, don't be like this. I'm trying to make things right. We're a family, we're a Glee club, we're friends. Right?"

Quinn scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Well, maybe I want different friends," she said quietly in a way that her words still packed a punch.

With that Quinn, stomped back inside and feigned a headache so she could go home early.

She ignored all of everyone's concerned texts and friendly pokes on Facebook for the rest of the summer, focusing on Sheila, Ronnie, and Mack, the group that would soon be known as the Skanks.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I feel bad that I haven't updated in awhile but writing my S3 rewrite made me think of Quinn again and since I have nothing to do this summer, be prepared for more updates!

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><p>"I'm bored," whined Quinn on Sheila's bed as she flipped through an ancient <em>Seventeen <em>magazine.

"So what do you want to do?" asked Ronnie as The Mack painted her toenails.

"Something…daring," decided Quinn.

"What the hell does that mean?" asked Sheila as she took a sip from her Coke. Quinn rolled over onto her stomach to face her friends.

"You know, something unexpected. Something that when people look at you, they'll like, realize that they never knew you."

"You're getting way too deep for me," snorted The Mack. "Are you smoking weed with Frankie now?"

They all laughed but it wasn't a cruel joke. Quinn admitted that she had been seeing a lot of Frankie and everyone knew that he was a stoner although he promised not to smoke before he hung out with Quinn. Quinn was delighted that she didn't even have to be passive aggressive about it.

"So what are you thinking?" asked Sheila. "What's 'daring' in Quinn Fabray's book?"

"A new look."

"We already went shopping though," pointed out Ronnie. "I thought you liked the stuff you got."

"No, I mean—" Quinn looked at the magazine in her hands which was flipped open to an article about dyeing your own hair. "How do you guys think I'd look like with a different hair color?"

"Like not you," said Sheila.

Quinn smiled. "Perfect. Let's go to Sally Beauty supply."

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><p>"So I thought blondes had more fun," quipped The Mack. "Why do you want to be a brunette?"<p>

"I never said I wanted to be a brunette," corrected Quinn. "Besides, that's too typical. I want something crazy."

"Like red hair?" suggested Sheila as she held up a package of Neutral Auburn #45. Quinn wrinkled her nose as The Mack jumped in.

"Nah, fake redheads are too obvious. How about jet black?"

Quinn was about to reply when Ronnie interrupted. "Hey check this out!" she called, gesturing for the others to come see. She gestured to a series of highlighting wands that were available for testing. Ronnie picked the blonde one and ran it through her hair.

"How does it look?" she asked. "Awesome," chorused the girls. Ronnie went over a picked up the purple wand and started to run it through her tips. "You know, I always thought the crazy colors for you know, crazy people, but this is kind of cute. Plus it's temporary."

Quinn selected the hot pink one and started to run it through her hair. "That one looks pretty good," approved Sheila. Quinn looked at her reflection in the mirror. "I wonder how it would look all pink?" she mused aloud.

The other girls exchanged looks. "You can't be serious," scoffed Ronnie. "You're going to regret it. Just get the highlighting wand and then if it looks like crap, it'll wash out," suggested The Mack but Quinn shook her head.

"No," said Quinn. "This is what I want. Will you guys help me? I've never dyed my hair before."

Sheila shrugged. "Okay, but just to be safe, we should get some peroxide too."

* * *

><p>They did it at Sheila's apartment and carefully spread copious amounts of Vaseline around Quinn's hairline and the nape of her neck so the dye wouldn't stain her skin. Quinn was wrapped in a towel, waiting the color to set before she washed it.<p>

"You're lucky you're already blonde," said The Mack as she read the instructions on the box. "Otherwise you're supposed to like, strip your hair white so it'll take easier."

"I think you can dye your hair with Kool Aid but I heard it doesn't look as good," said Ronnie as she walked in, munching on potato chips.

"When you go to bed, sleep in your crappiest sheets because the dye can stain your pillows and whatever," warned Sheila. Quinn resisted the urge to scratch her head.

"You know a lot about this stuff."

"My cousin dyed her hair red. And when she went to bed, the dye stained everything. They had to throw her sheets out because they couldn't get it out. My aunt was pissed. It was like nice stuff too. Egyptian cotton or some shit."

"Okay, wash your hair now," said The Mack. Gratefully, Quinn lowered her head into the bathtub and rinsed her hair with cold water. "Oh this feels so good," she said as the soothing cold water ran through her hair.

"That's what she said," quipped Ronnie and they all cracked up.

"Don't make me laugh!" cried Quinn. "Water just went up my nose."

Still giggling, she turned off the tap and dried her hair with the ratty old towel Sheila gave her. She turned to her friends and said, "Well, what do you think?"

Sheila nodded. "Looks good."

"Take a picture now because it'll never look this good again," advised Ronnie.

"What's your mom going to say?" asked The Mack.

Quinn shrugged.

* * *

><p>"What on earth did you do to your hair?" cried Judy when she saw Quinn walk in through the door.<p>

"Don't worry Mom," said Quinn. "It's semi-permanent. It'll go back to normal in like a month."

Quinn was bluffing; she didn't really remember what the box said but she hoped some of what she said was true. Pink hair was cool but she didn't want to have it when she was like, 30.

"Quinn, I don't understand what's gotten into you. You stop hanging out with your old friends—"

"Those people were never my friends, Mom, okay?" snapped Quinn. "One of those girls stole my boyfriend."

"But what about Santana and Brittany? You've been friends with them for so long—"

"Well, maybe I'm tired of hanging out with them. I'm tired of the same old things. I want to be different!"

Judy shook her head. "If you want to try a new look, Quinn that's fine. But you should have told me. We could have gone to beauty parlor and they would have done a nice job."

"Whatever. I like it," announced Quinn. Judy frowned at her.

"Did your new friend Sheila put you up to this? Honey, you shouldn't listen to that girl. Have you seen _her_ hair? She's not a good influence—"

"God, Mom it's not like that! I did it because _I_ wanted to. You don't get it!"

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady! You are grounded this weekend."

"For what?"

"For dyeing your hair pink without asking! I don't know what you think you're doing Quinn but you look starting to look like a cheap hussy. What's next, a tattoo? A piercing? Do you know how girls who dress like that look like? Do you want to look like that?"

Quinn just scoffed at her mother, tempted to shout out, "Maybe!" but she thought the better of it and just went to her room. She was already going to miss a party that weekend and she didn't want to miss another.

Carefully, Quinn lay down a ratty bath towel on her pillow before she collapsed on her bed and went to sleep. She put her iPod ear buds into her ears and put her songs on shuffle. Joan Jett's _Bad Reputation _started playing.

_I don't give a damn about my bad reputation!_

_You're living in the past, it's a new generation!_

_I'm gonna do what I wamma do_

_And that's what I'm gonna do_

_I don't give a damn about by bad reputation!_

A tattoo? She had never thought about it before.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Now it is time for the tattoo story! We are almost done with Quinn's Summer Adventures aka the Summer of the Skanks. Next up: the Skank name origin story and the finale.

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><p>Quinn had no idea where to get a tattoo and didn't want to ask the other girls because she had a feeling they were already getting a little concerned considering the pink hair and everything.<p>

It infuriated Quinn that even though she had pink hair and replaced her American Eagle wardrobe, people still viewed her as the proverbial picture of innocence despite the fact that she got pregnant her sophomore year. She resolved to ask Frankie even though she knew he would probably tease her which annoyed Quinn to no end.

Honestly she was tired of Frankie but he had his own car, his own job, and liked her enough to buy her beer without expecting too much in return. Quinn refused to have actual sex for fear of getting pregnant again and but she told Frankie he could tell those little adoring stoner fan boys who hung around him whatever he wanted so long as it wasn't too dirty. Frankie had laughed when she said that.

Speaking of Frankie, he was late picking her up. Technically he wasn't considering they never formly planned times and dates but it was 9 pm, it was dark and she wanted-no, needed to get that tattoo.

Quinn drew possible tattoo designs with her foot onto the concrete: a rose, a dragon, and a scorpion. A car's bright headlights shone on her and she knew that it was Frankie. About time.

Without saying hello, she got into his car. ''What are we doing tonight?'' she asked, hoping that he wouldn't have any suggestions. Frankie didn't anser and pulled something from his wallet and gave it to her. Quinn took it; it felt like a laminated card. What was it, a gift card to Breadstix? Quinn strained her eyes to see that it was a mature looking blonde woman's drivers license with the birth year listed as 1988. It was a fake ID.

''Where did you get this?'' asked Quinn as she examined it and compared it to her real one.

''I got a friend who owes me a favor.''

Quinn didn't say anything but she smiled at him. ''So what am I supposed to do with us?'' she asked coyly. Frankie shifted the car's gears and pulled out of the skate park.

''You ever been to a bar?''

****************  
>Roadhouse, the bar Frankie took her to, was a sad homage to the Patrick Swazye film complete with a life size cut out of the now deceased actor near the door. It was dark, dingy, and horribly low-rent. The old Quinn would have stuck out like a sore thumb in her pastel baby doll dresses and striped cardigans. The new Quinn, however, was pretty inconspicious even with her pink hair. There was even a middle aged biker couple that sported matching purple mohawks. Quinn's heart panged as she realized that Noah Puckerman had suddenly invaded her thoughts. She thought, what seemed a lifetime ago, that she could possibly been in love with him and that they could have maybe raised Beth in a happy teenage parent family. Quinn quickly swallowed more off the crappy beer Frankie had bought her to drown her thoughts out because if she thought about Beth she was probably goig to cry and she didn't want to explain why. Everyone thought she was an ice queen anyway. Finn had once asked her of she even felt anything. The answer was yes, and sometimes she worried that she felt too much so she buried it inside lest she lost control. And Quinn hated being out of control.<p>

''What are you thinking?'' asked Frankie.

''What would you think if I got a tattoo?'' Quinn took another large swig of her beer and discreetly wiped the tears that were threatening to form in her eyes before anyone noticed.

''A tattoo?'' Frankie scratched his chin stubble thoughtfully. ''I guess it could be kinda hot...especially if you got it in a place very few little people knew about.'' Frankie began to nuzzle Quinn's neck affectionately and she laughed.

''I'm serious, though.''

''Why do you want one?''

Quinn shrugged. ''I want something to say that I'm not the same person I was before.''

''And you think a tattoo is going to do that?''

''Well it's not going to be counter effective is it?''

Frankie laughed. ''Well you've already got your mind made up, don't you?''

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll take you but let's have another beer first."

Twenty minutes later, Quinn was a lot much drunker than she had intended to get but she was in a tattoo parlor and that's all that mattered.

"So what do you want?" murmured Frankie as he wrapped his arms around her waist, spinning her to face all the designs on the wall. They all blurred together and Quinn shut her eyes to steady herself. Being drunk felt more like being really sleepy—she could barely keep her eyes open and the room kept shifting underneath her feet. With her vision impaired, Quinn randomly stabbed a design on the wall. Frankie laughed.

"You sure?"

"Let's do it before I change my mind," slurred Quinn as she got into the tattoo artist's table and lifted her shirt to expose her lower back.

In the morning, back in her own bed, Quinn groaned as the early morning sun flitted through the blinds at hit her face. She didn't even remember getting home but she did remember quietly sneaking into her bedroom and falling face down on her mattress. Hopefully, her mom wouldn't say anything to her; she had a feeling that she was going to be hung over.

Quinn pulled the covers around her and rolled onto her back.

"Ouch!" she cried and she rubbed her lower back, hoping to make the pain go away. Then she remembered.

Quinn ripped the covers off her and went to her mirror to check out her new tattoo. To her dismay, instead of a traditional flower or Chinese character or animal, the face of Ryan Seacrest was now permanently inked on her skin. Quinn's head throbbed and she went back under the covers, railing at her drunk, angry self.

_Why didn't I just get a dolphin? _she wondered.


End file.
